He looked up into her laughing eyes. His color came hot, his heart pounded, and he gasped, "S-say m-my John! Won't you?"
"Why, certainly. Good-by, my Johnnie." She smiled yet more.
"Will—will"—he choked—"will you b-be my—k—Fannie—when I g-get old enough?"
"Yes," she said, with great show of gravity, "if you'll not tell anybody." She held him down by gently stroking his brow. "And you must promise to grow up such a perfect gentleman that I'll be proud of my Johnnie when"—She smiled broadly again.
—"Wh-when—k—the time comes?"
"I reckon so—yes."
He sprang to his knees and cast his arms about her neck, but she was too quick, and his kiss was lost in air. He flashed a resentful surprise, but she shook her head, holding his wasted wrists, and said, "N-no, no, my Johnnie, not even you; not Fannie Halliday, o-oh no!" She laughed.
"Some one's coming!" she whispered. It was Judge March. His adieus were very grateful. He called her a blessing.
She waved a last good-by to John from the window. Then she went to her own room, threw arms and face into a cushioned seat and moaned, so softly her own ear could not catch it—a name that was not John's.